


catch

by funkylittleandroid



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Altered Mental States, Anal Fingering, BDSM, Bottom Rhys (Borderlands), Choking, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Extremely Dubious Consent, First Time Bottoming, Humiliation, Jack Wins AU, M/M, Masochism, Mind Break, Mindfuck, No Aftercare, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Porn With Plot, Post-Episode 4, Psychological Horror, Stockholm Syndrome, and gratuitous use of em-dashes, implied Rhyiona, improbably good sex, not daddy kink but jack does call himself daddy a couple of times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:15:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26171800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funkylittleandroid/pseuds/funkylittleandroid
Summary: Rhys feels his body go cold.This can’t be happening, he thinks wildly, frozen. This can’t be happening. No, no, no, no -“You miss me?” says Handsome Jack, grinning and solid and breathing and very, very, very alive.Fuck.
Relationships: Handsome Jack/Rhys (Borderlands)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 147





	catch

**Author's Note:**

> hello again, fellow degenerates. this fic is terrible and very dark and very much a DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT situation. so please let me know if i missed any essential tags.
> 
> also infinite thanks to @foppishaplomb who inspired/enabled me to write this awful mess.
> 
> enjoy!

Rhys wakes up. 

The first thing to occur to him is that he’s in a bed. A very warm, very soft bed. He hums in sleepy contentment and burrows a little bit deeper under the covers, basking in the glow of early-morning sunlight -

Wait.

What?

Rhys’s eyes snap open. 

Sure enough, he’s in a bed. A real bed, for the first time in months, big and soft and white-sheeted. And there’s - there’s a room behind the bed, around him. A room he doesn’t recognize in the slightest.

Rhys blinks, shakes his head, struggles to put the pieces together. The last thing that happened - what was it? How did he get here? Does he even...remember?

The last thing he remembers. He can do that. What does he remember? Being in Jack’s office. Right. The - the override. The chair, the screens. The offer. 

He’d said yes, hadn’t he? Jack had made it seem so perfect. Everything he’d ever wanted, all wrapped up in a neat package. Money. Status. Power. The…the pizza. There was a pizza, right? Rhys isn’t completely sure anymore.

But then - of course - was the catch. The master plan, horrifying as it was. _Your body, my brain, we’ll change the frickin’ universe, baby!_ Yeah. Right. 

So he’d bolted, because jeez of COURSE he had, and he’d - oh god - he’d almost gotten out, hadn’t he, and he’d hesitated, half a moment too long - there was no escape - 

And then nothing. Black.

A chill runs through Rhys’s body. He swallows, looks around again. Looks down at his hands, examines them. Curls his fingers experimentally, and they curl, even the cybernetic ones -

His arm. The cybernetic one. It’s...different.

Something settles into the pit of Rhys’s stomach. He lifts his arm, examines it in the pale light. Still yellow, but a different model - sleeker, newer. Grippy finger pads, more touch sensors. 

It finally hits Rhys in full that something is deeply, viscerally, horribly wrong.

His heart stutters in his chest. He has to get out of here. He has to get out of here, wherever _here_ is, and find Vaughn and Sasha and Fiona ( _god, Fiona, Fiona, let her be okay if nothing else please)_ and he’ll apologize and everything will be okay, everything will be okay, this is a dream, all a dream, any moment he’ll wake up -

The door opens. 

“Heya, kiddo. Finally conscious, huh?”

Rhys feels his body go cold. 

This can’t be happening, he thinks wildly, frozen. This can’t be happening. No, no, no, no -

“You miss me?” says Handsome Jack, grinning and solid and breathing and very, very, very alive. 

_Fuck_. 

Rhys stares at Jack for a few moments, eyes wide and jaw slack. “You’re. You. How did…?”

“Pretty neat, right?” says Jack, and grins even broader. “Wasn’t quite sure if the Naka-whoozit technology was actually gonna work but hey! Here we are!”

Rhys’s brain feels like it’s skipping beats right alongside his heart, moments away from stopping entirely. “This isn’t real,” he says out loud. “You aren’t real.”

Jack laughs - _laughs_ \- at that, loud and almost mocking. “Ha! Jeez, kiddo, the look on your face right now - priceless, I gotta say.” He perches on the edge of the bed and holds out his arm. “Go on, you can touch if you want.”

Rhys, almost in a trance, reaches out an arm toward Jack’s offered limb. He almost expects it not to work, for Jack to dissolve around him in a thousand floating pixels or cackle madly as Rhys’s hand clips right through him yet again.

But. Jack’s arm is solid. Warm and firm under Rhys’s palm. 

Rhys feels the color drain out of his face. “No,” he says quietly, blood rushing in his ears. “No. It’s - you can’t.”

“Oh, I think I can, pumpkin,” says Jack, still grinning so wide. “Actually, I think I already have. Isn’t that _great_?”

Isn’t that great?

Suddenly, Rhys wants to run. Wants with every cell in his body to run, to escape, to get as far away from Jack as he can as fast as possible. 

And he doesn’t know why, couldn’t explain it if he tried, but something primal and deep inside him keeps him frozen in place, brain stuttering, locked to the bed. A prey animal, playing dead for a predator.

Jack doesn’t seem to see that in his eyes. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. “Now,” he continues, “I know you probably got a loooot of questions, cupcake, and I gotta say I may or may not answer all of ‘em.” He shrugs, leans back. “But hey, ask away.” 

“Uh,” says Rhys, unable to say anything else.

Jack pats Rhys’s outstretched leg encouragingly. “Go on, don’t be shy.”

Rhys takes a deep breath, tries to collect himself as much as he possibly can (which really isn’t very much at all). “So. Uh,” he finally manages, and _fuck_ he should be running for his life right now but he can’t, he can’t. “What...happened?”

Jack laughs. “Aww. Head’s a lil scrambled, is it?” He reaches over and tousles Rhys’s hair, almost affectionately. Rhys tries to shy away, but the bed’s headboard doesn’t quite let him. Jack continues. “Well. Long story short, your old buddy Jack had a bit of a change of heart.”

Rhys instantly knows that this really isn’t good. “A...change of heart.”

“Sure thing,” says Jack, and the way he’s smiling sets every one of Rhys’s hairs on end. “Cause I told you what Plan A was - the army of Jacks, you as the prototype, all that. But then…” He shakes his head, clicks his tongue in an excellent show of faux-regret. “Then I saw you, passed out there on the floor, and something inside me just...well, it hurt, Rhysie. Of course it would’ve been an honor for _you_ to have _me_ wearing your body like a skin-suit, sure. But then I thought - well, first, I thought _do I really wanna wear this kid’s stupid, twinky face for the rest of my life_ , which, I don’t. And then, my second thought was... _what if there’s a better way?”_

Rhys’s blood hammers in his chest. “...was there?”

Jack chuckles. “Of course there was, kitten. There’s always a better way. Better for me, and _soooo_ much better for you.”

Rhys definitely doesn’t believe that in the slightest, but Jack continues. “So. Long story short: I got this casino, right? Great place, just opened, I’ll take ya sometime. And of course I couldn’t be there for the opening, because who gives a shit about that, and I had a couple of doppelgangers standing in for me. When the place shut down after I apparently kicked it, everyone got caught inside - man, were they all happy to see me again! Except the doppelgangers, which, again, who cares. So bam, boom, grabbed one of those miserable morons, stuffed that endoskeleton in him instead and…” He spreads his hands wide and laughs. “The rest is history, baby.”

It takes a moment for that to click into place in Rhys’s mind. “So. Wait. You’re...you’re not gonna kill me?” he asks weakly, hoping he doesn’t sound as incredibly confused as he feels.

Jack chuckles. “Oh, jeez, no, pumpkin. I spent waaaay too much time and money on you to kill you just for the hell of it.”

Rhys blinks. “Wait - what money?”

But Jack ignores him. “You betrayed me, sure, and that stung. So you’re gonna make _that_ up to me. But I always liked you, kiddo.” He leans back, looks Rhys up and down. “You got...spunk. It’s cute.”

“ _Spunk_ \- okay. Okay. I don’t have time for this,” says Rhys, shaking his head and sitting up straighter. “Where are my friends.”

“Well, I don’t friggin’ know, kid,” says Jack. “Probably scrounging in the trash cans for food or whatever people do down on Pandora.”

“You...don’t know? You were trying to - to kill them - ”

“Uh, yeah, but then I got busy with you, dum-dum. They weren’t exactly a priority.”

“But - ”

“Face it, kiddo,” Jack interrupts, “your buddies ditched you. Capital-D ditched, left behind, been there and done that.” He gives Rhys a pointed look. “Doesn’t feel too good, now, does it?”

Rhys shakes his head in disbelief, trying to understand. “They - they wouldn’t - ”

“Oh, but they did, Rhysie. All of ‘em,” says Jack, and it almost sounds like he’s gloating. “Even your girl. What was her name - Francine? Frida?”

Rhys screws his eyes shut. “ _Shut. Up_.”

“Aww. See, look at that. _Spunk_.” He pats Rhys’s cheek condescendingly, and Rhys ignores how it makes his skin prickle. “But hey, that’s ancient history, sweetheart. It’s been long enough that you know they’re not coming back for ya, so I say forget about ‘em. Not worth it.”

“Wait, it’s been - ” Rhys squints. “...how long has it _been_?”

Jack shrugs. “Oh, you’ve been out for about...I’d say six weeks.”

“Six _WEEKS_?” 

“Well, yeah, kiddo, of course,” says Jack, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Just a medically induced coma. No biggie!”

“What the _fuck_ ,” Rhys breathes, clutching the blanket -

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Jack interjects. “Watch your language, baby.” _Language?_ Rhys thinks, befuddled, but Jack just keeps talking. “Besides. You should be down on your knees thanking me by now for all the cash I’ve dropped on you the past few weeks. I mean, I think it’s worth it, but a little recognition would be nice.”

Rhys blinks. “Jack, I have literally no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, well, gee, why didn’t you say so,” says Jack, deadpan.

Rhys rubs a hand over his face, exasperated. “I...okay. Okay.” He looks up, glances around at the unfamiliar room. “And - and, uh, also - where are we? Are we still on Helios?”

“Sure are,” says Jack. “The windows and the sunlight and shit are fake, y’know, just to give the room that little homey touch.” He grins at Rhys. “Nice, right?”

“Yeah, uh...nice,” Rhys says, feeling uneasy. 

(The thing is, once upon a time, Rhys might have had a fleeting thought about being in a scenario similar to this - alone with Handsome Jack, in a room with a bed. He’d never admit it to a soul, though, let alone Jack himself. 

But it’s just a thought. An old thought. A thought he’d ignored, forgotten, fucked away. A thought that never meant anything before, and that doesn’t mean anything now.

Right?)

Jack’s talking again, pulling Rhys out of his recollections. “Sooo, speaking of homey touches,” he says, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “You probably already noticed, but I got some buds to clean you up - give you a fresh coat of paint, so to speak.”

The uneasy feeling grows, expands in Rhys’s chest. “...what did you do to me?”

“Oh, just the normal stuff,” Jack says. “Bath, haircut, clipped nails, laser hair removal, experimental cybernetics, blah blah blah.”

“You - wait, experimental cybernetics? - ”

“Arm’s a new model, top of the line, really nice shit. There’s no way in hell you would have been able to afford that on your own, by the way, so you’re welcome.” Jack smirks, winks at Rhys.

“Uh,” says Rhys, unsure how to respond.

Jack continues. “Had to fix up your old EchoEye too - FYI, it doesn’t scan shit anymore, so that’s one less thing for you to worry about. ”

Almost immediately, Rhys activates his EchoEye and squints at Jack, the blue spill of the eye illuminating his face. Sure enough, Rhys notes with a grimace and a sinking feeling, there’s no option for EchoNet connectivity anymore. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“Aw, don’t look so sad, kiddo,” says Jack, flicking Rhys lightly on the arm. “The new eye’s real nice, suits you just fine. Go on, take a look.” He picks up a hand mirror from the bedside table and tosses it over to Rhys. 

So Rhys does. 

The first thing he thinks is that he looks...exactly the same. The new eye’s the same color, face the same shape. But as he stares at himself, he’s surprised by how _healthy_ he looks. He notices how his cheeks are fuller, how his lips seem a bit softer and pinker, how the dark circles beneath his eyes have faded. Frankly, he looks better-fed and better-rested than he has in years.

Still, it takes a moment for him to identify what Jack’s telling him to look for. When he does, he tilts his face to one side, trying to get a better look at the tiny wires newly embedded under the skin near his temple port. “What’s that,” he asks lowly, trying not to sound as suspicious as he is.

“That,” says Jack, “is where the docs installed a brand-new temple port device. Just for you.”

Rhys frowns. “Uh...why?”

“Cause the AI was still embedded in the old one, and that would make things _trés awkward_ , Rhysie, am I right?” Jack chuckles, and pats him on his bare shoulder. 

Suddenly, something occurs to Rhys. He blinks, looks down. “...Am I naked?”

Jack shrugs, nonplussed. “I dunno, are you naked? You’re under the covers, not me.”

Rhys shakes his head, looks down at his bare torso, blinks again. “But - why am I naked - where are my clothes - "

“Oh, that godawful outfit? Burned it the minute I got my body back, kiddo,” says Jack, picking at his nails. “Nah. You’re gonna get nicer stuff from now on, I promise. Won’t even miss it.” He glances up, giving Rhys a slow, pensive once-over. “Besides. The spa technician people probably just wanted to get to your personal bits without your clothes in the way. And stuff.”

Rhys pulls a face. “My...personal bits?”

“Of course,” says Jack. “We want to keep you looking pretty, right?” He winks, gives Rhys a little smirk. 

The immense feeling of wrongness that’s been brewing in Rhys’s gut hitches. Rhys swallows it down and braces for impact. “So,” he finally says, steeling himself, “I don’t understand - ”

“True,” Jack interrupts with a snicker. “You don’t understand very much at all, do you, pumpkin - ”

“Jack, what do you want with me?”

The directness of the question seems to surprise Jack, makes his eyebrows quirk up. He studies Rhys for a moment before smiling, again. “...Isn’t it obvious?” he asks, low and dangerous.

Rhys folds his arms and ignores how his heart continues to flutter madly in his chest. “It really isn’t.”

Jack leans in just an inch closer, still smiling, and it’s more like he’s baring his teeth now. “Oh, I think it is, pumpkin,” he says. “I think it’s been pretty obvious for a long, long, _long_ time.” 

Panic is rising in Rhys’s throat, and yet Jack continues in that quiet, intimate voice - “All that money. All those spa treatments, those experimental cybernetics, those extra skin sensors, those neurocognitive alterations. All for my pet project. My _special boy_.”

Oh, Rhys really really doesn’t like the sound of that. He looks Jack in the eye and attempts to keep his voice steady. “I don’t. Know what. You’re talking about.”

And then, unprompted, Jack bursts into laughter, turning away from Rhys just so he can slap his knee in mirth. “Oh my god,” he wheezes, “shit, this is funny. This is so friggin’ funny, Rhysie, and you don’t even realize it because you’re such a dumb little bitch that you’ll do whatever I tell you. Man! This is sweet, really it is. Oh, pumpkin, you keep me entertained, you really, really, _really_ do. I can’t believe you haven’t noticed - !”

“Jack,” says Rhys, trying and failing to keep the shake out of his voice. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Jack chuckles one more time, wiping tears from his eyes and shaking his head before leaning in toward Rhys. “See, Rhysie,” he says, patting Rhys’s knee, “I’m...I’m a _giver_. I’m not into forcing anyone to do anything they don’t wanna do, cause, y’know, I’m a decent guy. And it’s no fun if the other person’s not into it, right?”

A rushing noise is beginning to build in Rhys’s ears. “Uh…”

“Right,” Jack finishes, and makes careful eye contact. “So. I took the liberty of making completely sure you’re gonna be super into everything I wanna do to you!” He beams. “Pretty genius, huh?”

“...what?” says Rhys, and his voice sounds very small.

Jack ignores him. “Wasn’t even that hard, actually, most of those freaky crossed wires were in the right spots already. Just had to clean up one or two things, create some bypasses, install some access programs. That sort of thing. Expected it to be tougher, honestly, but you’re friggin’ _easy_ , Rhysie, both brain-wise and...y’know.” He snorts. “Everywhere else, too.” 

The rushing noise grows louder. Rhys feels like he might throw up. “Jack, what are you talking about?”

Jack hums, too gentle, too patronizing. “...Oh, sweetheart. I knew you weren’t too bright, but you can’t really be this stupid, can you?” He shakes his head, shrugs. “Well, fine. In that case...maybe we need a live demonstration.”

With that, Jack winds his hand back and slaps Rhys across the face. 

The impact of it is so strong and sudden that it makes Rhys’s head whip roughly to one side, and he barely manages to get his hands underneath him before he crashes sideways into the mattress. His palm flies up to his stinging cheek. “What the HELL, Jack?”

But Jack doesn’t move. Doesn’t say a word, doesn’t make a sound. Just stares at Rhys, a wide, terrifying smile slowly spreading across his face.

Moments later, Rhys feels it. 

It starts at his cheek. The pain blooms out from under his palm, radiating across his face, dripping down his spine, and then something warm and sweet that doesn’t just hurt anymore is pooling at his hips. He feels his lips part and his eyes roll back as the pain melts deliciously into that something _else_ , white-hot and consuming and oh fuck oh fuck it isn’t _enough_ -

And then all too soon it’s gone, and Rhys is left blinking and bereft as the horrifying realization of just what Jack has done to him slowly dawns.

“No,” Rhys whispers, and suddenly the little rabbit-heart ticking inside him bursts to panicked life and he scrambles back, away from Jack. “Oh no. Oh no no no no - ”

“Oh yes yes yes _yes_ , kitten,” says Jack and grabs him hard by the ankle, pinning him down and still leering at - oh God, at his cock, now red and hard and exposed, and Jack laughs. “Welcome to your new and improved body, Rhysie.” 

“This isn’t happening,” gasps Rhys again, as Jack straddles his chest in one fluid motion, “this isn’t happening, this can’t be happening - ”

“Oh, it’s happening, baby,” says Jack, still grinning horribly wide, “and I’ve been wanting this to happen since the day you plugged me into that pretty, empty little head.” He slaps Rhys again, on the opposite cheek, even harder. 

And Rhys wants to say _stop_ , wants to say _no_ , wants to say _fuck you Jack,_ but all that comes out is a horrible whine as his head lolls to one side, as the new pain-pleasure drags him under again. 

“You see,” says Jack, and slaps him a third time, and Rhys is trying so hard to listen but the sting feels so good, _why_ does it feel so good, “You’re still a prototype, Rhysie, just a very different _kind_ of prototype. That’s what makes this little idea of mine so genius, y’know. Cause I get to test out my bandit-army concept on a bunch of randos who I don’t care about. And I also get to test out my big ideas for you, cupcake.”

Suddenly, Rhys realizes that there’s something else pressing into his chest, too, something that’s not Jack’s thigh or his holster or - “Jack,” Rhys breathes, blood cold. “Is - is that - are you...?”

Jack cackles, loud and horrible. “Oh my God, you really are stupid. You think I haven’t had a stiffy this entire time, watching you squirm? Holy shit, you didn’t even - oh! Man! That’s good!”

“It’s not funny!”

“Oh. You’re right, baby. It’s friggin’ hilarious how dumb you are!” Jack slaps him again, and Rhys’s hips buck up. 

“Stop,” Rhys manages. “Jack, _stop_ \- “

“Oh, I don’t think you really want me to do that, pumpkin,” Jack breathes, low and dangerous. “Cause this just hurts so good now, doesn’t it?”

“Uh-uh, no - "

“Don’t lie to me, cupcake,” Jack singsongs. “I know when you’re lying to me.”

Rhys scoffs. “Oh, yeah, what are you gonna do, slap me - FUCK!”

“ _Language_ , kitten. I’m not going to remind you again,” Jack admonishes, patting Rhys on the still-stinging cheek he’d just smacked. “And...hey, feel free to keep fighting it. You won’t win, but it’ll be even more fun to watch you break.”

Rhys feels his heart beating in his throat. “You’re not gonna - you’re not gonna _break_ me, Jack - ”

“Oh, I won’t? Cause you’re looking like you’re almost there already, sweetheart,” says Jack, still grinning. 

“I - I won’t, I’m not, I don’t want this, Jack, st- _aaaaaaaah, ah, ah_ …” Rhys breaks off into a pathetic moan as Jack pinches his nipples hard.

“Oh, and by the way,” says Jack, much too conversational, “I put some extra sensors in some of my _favorite_ spots on you. Just to make sure you really enjoy it.”

He releases Rhys’s nipples, and Rhys gets a moment of relief until the after-pain of the pinch sets in. He bites his lip, tries his hardest not to moan again as Jack’s hands hover over his chest again. Waiting for more to come.

But Jack - traitorous, horrible Jack - doesn’t provide it. Instead, he reaches down and rolls one pink nipple gently between two fingers, just barely teasing at Rhys’s skin with his fingernails, and holy _shit_ that’s _so good_. Rhys lets out a long, shaky breath, tries to ignore the newfound pleasure. 

Jack chuckles, gently rubs a thumb over his other nipple, too. “See, that’s a great way to shut you up,” he muses, almost to himself. “Ooh, kiddo, I should break out the nipple clamps again. You’d just looove those, wouldn’t you.”

Rhys squirms underneath him. “Stop,” he says, coming out much more whiny than he’d like. “Jaaack, stop it - ”

“Aw, you’re cute when you beg,” says Jack, still grinning. “And you aren’t even begging for anything good yet - I mean, the fight is fun, but we’re gonna work _that_ right out of you pretty fast.” 

Rhys doesn’t even have time to process that before Jack is dragging his hands slowly, too slowly, down Rhys’s chest, and he can barely take it anymore - his skin feels so goddamn _sensitive_ now, every exposed inch an erogenous zone, like he’s a livewire stripped raw. Jack’s palms are rough, strong, and every touch of them makes the pleasure that much more overwhelming, makes the nausea hitch in his gut. He doesn’t understand, his body has never reacted like this before, not even close - what has Jack _done_ to him - 

Jack’s hands finally fall on his thighs, and he stares down at Rhys appraisingly. Just that makes Rhys suck in a breath, tossing his head. “Relax, Rhysie,” Jack cajoles, squeezing his hips too gently, still looking him up and down. “Wow. You look good with some healthy weight on you, kiddo. Nice and soft.” He lifts up Rhys’s hips just slightly, makes a low noise of approval. “And man, am I glad I had some of my surgeons perk you up just a bit back here because jeez, kiddo, you really were flat as a board. But this...yeah. This is much better. I almost wish you could see it, cause _damn_ , what a view. Daaamn.”

It takes a second to sink in. When it does, it drops like a stone in his stomach. “You gave me _plastic surgery_ ,” says Rhys quietly, feeling very, very ill. “You gave me plastic surgery, on my _ass -_ ”

“Yeah? And? I also reprogrammed your brain chemistry, kiddo, this wasn’t that big of a deal. ‘Sides, it was only your ass, anyway, the rest of you was juuust fine.” Jack grins lavisciously, and Rhys wants to cry. 

Until Jack’s face lights up, and he grins even wider, hopping on the balls of his feet. “Ooh! Wait! Forgot, I told ‘em to just touch up your lips a little, too, make ‘em nice and soft. Better for blowjobs.”

Rhys’s hand flies up to his mouth. He’d noticed it, fleetingly, but he hadn’t thought…

“You’re welcome, baby, I know,” says Jack. “And those are probably more sensitive too, now, so you’d better enjoy it.” 

With that, Jack pushes closer again, leans down over Rhys as if to inspect him. Just the feeling of Jack’s clothed body against his own bare skin is toe-curlingly good ( _just the idea of Jack being powerful and businesslike and himself being a soft naked **thing**_ ) - it’s making his cock hard enough to stand at end now. And still Rhys can feel the panic beating in his chest right alongside the arousal because this is wrong, it’s so bad, he doesn’t WANT this, he doesn’t want to want it at all, and it’s almost like the not-wanting-it makes the need that much more intense -

Jack lets out a low, throaty sound. “God _damn_. Look at that sweet little cock.”

“It’s not little,” Rhys protests. 

But Jack’s hands are tight at his hips, and he ignores Rhys, just takes his dick between two fingers and gently strokes it and it feels nice, feels good, but it’s like almost nothing has changed there even compared to the rest of his body - weird. That’s weird -

“Look at you,” says Jack, interrupting his thoughts. “Just as pretty down here as you are up top. Oh, cupcake, this is gonna look so _cute_ bouncing around while I fuck you.”

“Stop,” says Rhys, squeezing his eyes shut, “stop it - ”

“Stop it? I’m just tellin’ you how cute you are,” says Jack, a malicious gleam in his eye. “And you’re gonna look even _cuter_ when I’m making you come on my cock, aren’t you?”

“Jack - ” Rhys protests, heat rising in his face, trying not to think about that last taunt too much - “Jack, come on - ” 

Jack ignores him. “But I gotta say...we might get use out of this cute lil thing sometimes, but it’s not the star of the show for us anymore, know what I’m saying?” He snickers. “Of course you do.” (Rhys doesn’t, but Jack continues anyway.) “So I rewired some of your other stuff too. Put some extra sensors in, all that good shit.”

Rhys blinks, bemused and dreading the answer. “What - what does that even mean - ” 

“Well, Rhysie,” says Jack, grabs the back of his knees and pushes his legs up, spreads them wide, and suddenly Rhys wants to vomit - “I’ll show you.”

Rhys shakes his head wildly, panic rising in his throat. “No. No, Jack, _no_ \- "

“Cause I know you’ve thought about this, too, kiddo, I’ve seen everything in your head,” Jack continues, too casually. “I know you’ve been trying to convince yourself that you’re a top for the past ten years - which, seriously, hilarious. So friggin’ funny.” He chuckles to himself, and Rhys feels his throat closing up - “Aaaand. I also know about all those times you looked at my hands on all those posters and thought _golly gee whiz I wonder how many of those big fingers Handsome Jack could stuff into my tiny little pink asshole_ , right, and then you’d get weirded out and you’d try to think about tits or whatever.” He shrugs, smirks down at Rhys. “But hey. I get it. You can be yourself around me, princess. So don’t hold back.”

And then Jack grazes one nail over his ( _tiny, little, pink)_ asshole and -

Oh.

_Oh._

“ _Oh_ ,” Rhys says out loud, unable to keep the noise back any longer. 

“Good, pumpkin?” Jack asks, _oh my god holy shit so good so good so good,_ and Rhys is trying his best not to moan again but Jack keeps teasing and the the little aching sounds keep slipping out, toes curling, back arching, _yes yes yes more please please -_

Jack pulls away, and it’s like being punched in the gut. A cry of dismay roughly tears its way out of Rhys at the loss, and he can’t help it, oh god he can’t help it he wants _more_. It’s humiliating, and he knows it’s humiliating, and the humiliation itself is just getting him more and more turned on, an endless wave’s crest that never seems to break -

“Want me to touch you down there again?” Jack asks, so kindly.

“ _No_ ,” says Rhys in a small, shaking voice. 

Jack raises an eyebrow. “I thought you weren’t gonna lie to me anymore, Rhysie.”

“I’m not - " Rhys cuts himself off with a gasping moan as Jack puts his hand between his ass cheeks and rubs firmly. It’s so good, so sensitive and raw and _perfect_ , better than anything that his dick has ever felt, and it makes Rhys want to curl into a ball and hide. 

But Jack doesn’t let him, forces his legs wide and keeps him there, licks his lips and stares. “Oh, Rhysie,” he chuckles, gaze hot between Rhys’s spread thighs, “oh, _look_ at _you_ , sweetheart. Look at that perfect little hole. _Fuck_.”

(And Rhys hates that this is really doing it for him now, all of it, the casual humiliation, the itching feeling of being looked at like he’s a piece of meat. He resists the sudden urge to lift his hips, bare his neck, present himself to Jack.)

Jack shakes his head and licks his lips one more time before advancing forward, forcing Rhys’s thighs fully apart. Rhys lets out a terrified whimper, tries to squirm away from Jack’s touch, his hands, his voice -

But Jack’s got a secure hold on his hip, holding Rhys down, using his other hand to produce a little bottle of something seemingly out of thin air. “Now relax, baby,” he says, and Jack’s almost scarier this way, when he’s being so gentle, “Sit back and let Daddy make you feel good, okay?”

Rhys can feel himself beginning to hyperventilate, terrified and humiliated and sick with arousal, the world narrowing down to his body and Jack’s - “Jack, you - I don’t want this, I don’t want you to fuck me, I don’t - ”

Jack shakes his head, chuckles almost indulgently. “Oh. Well, that’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.”

“I think I know what I want more than you do!”

But Jack holds up a finger, shakes it admonishingly. “Nuh-uh, not so much, kiddo. See, there’s just one more fun little surprise I’ve got for you.” 

Dread crashes over Rhys, and he shakes, tries not to burst into tears, and Jack continues - “Like I said, I rewrote some of your neurological bullshit, or at least turned your kinky dials all the way up, and...well.” He smiles, pats Rhys’s thigh. “Now, as it turns out, you really really really _do_ want this, actually. So you’re custom-built to genuinely love being treated like a _fuckdoll!_ Cause, Rhysie, that’s kinda what you are now - my personal fuckdoll. But I do still want you to have fun, pumpkin, cause I’m nice like that. So, to answer your question...yeah, kiddo, you’re really into this now.”

That word. It echoes around his mind - ricochets, growing stronger and crueler, _fuckdoll_ , _Jack’s fuckdoll,_ that’s what he - “Jack, you can’t be - that’s - ”

“And you know what the best part is?” Jack interrupts, leering down at him with that horrible wide grin. “It’s like I said. _I barely had to change a thing in your fucked-up little brain, Rhysie._ Cause I’ve been in there.And I know you’ve wanted this deep down for a long, long time. All you needed was a little push off the edge.”

And then with no warning Jack’s palm cracks down hard over Rhys’s ass and the sound echoes across the room and Rhys screams, clutching at the sheets as the pain rips through his body, heaven and agony as Jack _pushes_ -

Jack’s finger slides in, smooth and perfect, and Rhys feels his eyes roll up into the back of his head. “Look at me,” says Jack and Rhys looks just as the finger slips in further and Rhys keens, overwhelmed, _yes yes yes it’s so good it’s too much it’s so good, holy fuck, holy FUCK -_

“Theeere we go!” Jack crows, “oh, good _boy_ , Rhysie.”

 _Good boy_ \- Rhys can’t help it, he sobs, feels his hole clench down hard on Jack’s hand like he’s about to come. 

“Yeah?” Jack says, mocking and perfect, “you get all nice and _tight_ when I call you my good boy, huh? You love being Handsome Jack’s fuckdoll, don’t you?”

And he thrusts, pushes up, and Rhys’s vision almost whites out. “Oh god,” Rhys sobs in a high, needy voice that doesn’t sound like his own, “oh god, Jack, that’s - that’s - ”

“Feels good, right, sweetheart? Want another one?” asks Jack, and he doesn’t wait for an answer before adding a second finger, right alongside the first, and it burns so good and Rhys hates how his traitorous awful body responds, opening up for Jack so easily. It’s like he’s riding in that heart-stopping spot just before the crest of an orgasm, so close to release but never quite there, just overwhelmed and sensitive and wanting. Somehow the pleasure keeps building - he should have come by now, he thinks somewhere, as Jack fucks him with those big rough fingers, in and out - never stopping, never fading, just mounting endlessly. If he thought just the teasing before was good it’s nothing compared to this, nothing at all, he doesn’t know how he lived without this his whole life -

And there’s that little part of him that’s still lucid, watching from afar with horror, at what Jack’s done to him, at what he’s allowing himself to do, at the sounds he’s making and the way he needs it and the overstimulated over-pleasured tears beginning to gush down his face -

Jack pulls back, looks at him with an expression of faux-concern. “What’s wrong, baby?” he asks, far too nicely. “Why are you crying?”

 _Because it hurts_ , Rhys wants to say, _because I don’t want it, because you destroyed my body and my mind and made me into **this** , and because I’m humiliated and overwhelmed and I feel dirty and wrong, so terrifyingly wrong_ -

Instead, what comes out is a high, breathy, begging whine. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, Jack, _please!_ ”

“Aww, pumpkin, why didn’t you just say that?” Jack cooes, and reaches his other hand up to Rhys’s face. “There you go, honey,” he says, gently wiping Rhys’s tears away with his thumb. “There you go. Open up, baby.”

Rhys parts his lips to ask _open what_ and that’s all Jack needs. He hooks his hand around Rhys’s chin, presses his thumb into Rhys’s mouth. “Go on, pumpkin, clean it up.”

And Rhys does. Obediently sucks at Jack’s thumb, without a thought, the wetness of his own tears salty against his tongue. “Oh, yeah, baby, the lip stuff was a good investment. That’s a money shot right there,” Jack muses aloud, grinning, ( _and god, yeah, his lips are much more sensitive now, and Rhys thinks about how incredible Jack’s thick cock will feel sliding past them -_ )

Jack pulls his finger out of Rhys’s mouth with an obscene pop and Rhys falls back on the mattress, bereft at the loss of weight on his tongue, still deliciously full with Jack’s two fingers in his asshole. 

“Can we do three fingers now, sweetheart?” says Jack, looking so kind and so patient, and Rhys hates that the answer is yes, hates how it feels so good and stretches him so obscenely wide but it’s not enough, isn’t enough, won’t be enough until it’s not just Jack’s fingers and instead it’s Jack’s -

The third finger slips in easily alongside the other two and he whimpers at the feeling of fullness. “Nooo,” Rhys protests, but it’s weak, empty, riding on a moan as he feels himself pulse in pleasure around Jack. “‘S too much, too much…”

“Oh, cut it out with the whining, cupcake,” says Jack, rolling his eyes. “We both know how much you want this, right?”

“Jack - ”

“Face it, Rhysie, you’re kind of a slut,” says Jack, and that shouldn’t make him want to arch his back and _beg_ but it does, oh god, it does. His eyes meet Jack’s at once and it’s intense and terrifying and Rhys can’t look away. His mouth opens and closes soundlessly, trembling with shame and arousal and pleasure, unable to form real words -

Jack thrusts, hard, pulls Rhys’s hips back just as he drives his fingers in, and Rhys sobs. “Oh, yeah, you _are_ a slut, aren’t you,” Jack chuckles. “Feels so good to have my fingers in your tight little asshole, huh? Feels right, doesn’t it, baby?” 

Rhys moans, tosses his head, pushes down the _yes yes yes_ trying to break out. 

“But don’t fight it, sweetheart,” Jack continues, so low and enticing and dangerous. “You don’t need to fight it. You wanna be a good boy, don’t you?”

And oh, fuck, how badly Rhys wants to be Jack’s good boy, so badly it hurts and sings through his veins. He wants to be good. He wants it to hurt. He wants Jack to hurt him, and he hates that he wants it but he can’t _help_ it anymore. Yes, he wants to be Jack’s good boy, has wanted it ever since Jack seduced him with those tales of power and luxury and greatness, false hand almost warm on the small of his back. Rhys had known all along that there would be a catch - there was always a catch - but he’d done it anyway, hadn’t he? Wouldn’t he have done anything for Jack? Doesn’t he deserve to belong to Jack, in the end? Doesn’t he deserve all of this?

“Yeah,” says Jack, and smiles. “Yeah, pumpkin, I think you do.”

Then - and then Jack tugs his fingers back, pulls them almost-out of Rhys, and that delicious fullness is gone and it’s only a stretch at his hole and Rhys wails, so close so close so close and not quite enough, he needs it back, he needs _more_ , he _needs_ -

“Go on, Rhysie,” says Jack, and Rhys can hear the triumphant smile in his voice. 

“ _Show Daddy how much you want it_.”

And Rhys can’t help it anymore. He thrusts his hips down against Jack’s fingers with an aching cry. Being full again is the sweetest relief he’s ever felt, and he can’t stop himself, can’t stop how he rocks his hips up and down against Jack, can’t stop how he fucks himself desperately on Jack’s fingers, chasing that release that seems so close. His cock bounces against his stomach, hard and red and utterly forgotten, and Rhys barely even notices it amid how good it is to be _fucked_ , everything so pleasurable it almost hurts and the hurt loops right back around into pleasure again. He moans, he can’t stop moaning, and even the most natural sounds are utterly pornographic and Rhys doesn’t care. Just cares about that perfect fullness, the stretch of Jack’s fingers, the way Jack looks down at him with open hunger and something like pride, _good boy Rhysie that’s it good boy_.

Jack reaches up and pinches a nipple again and pain shoots through him followed close by liquid pleasure, and Jack’s fingers are perfect, and the pain is perfect, and Rhys is a _slut_ and Rhys is a _fuckdoll_ and he’s close, so close, so _close_ -

A heavy weight on his chest and fingers squeezing his jaw, Jack looms over him, boxing him in and holding so so close to his neck, and Rhys wants that big hand around his throat while the other one fucks him so he tilts his head back and keens, loud and desperate, beyond coherence but Jack understands. He settles his palm over Rhys’s neck and tightens his grip just so and thrusts his three fingers in deeper -

“You gonna come?” asks Jack.

Rhys sobs. “I’m - oh my _god -_ ” 

“You gonna come on my fingers, sweet pea?”

“Jack - Jack, _please please please -_ ”

“Come for me, Rhysie,” says Handsome Jack, and Rhys does.

It’s utterly indescribable. Awful. Agonizing. Perfect. 

Distantly, he hears himself screaming, and then everything goes dark.

Eventually, Rhys comes back to himself, laying limp on the bed soaked in sweat and his own semen. Jack’s fingers are still inside him, he notices happily, and he unconsciously presses back into them -

And then they’re gone, yanked out of him suddenly, and Rhys comes crashing down to consciousness as Jack stands up, rubbing his hands together in excitement. “DAMN, that went well!” he crows, bouncing on the balls of his feet before pointing at Rhys. “ _You_ are a friggin’ _freak_ , baby, I didn’t even have to touch your dick to make you come - just had to hit you and play with that cute lil’ asshole and off you went! Ooh, and it’s good to know that you really are a screamer, too - I mean, I knew you would be, but still, that’s gonna be fun.” He steps closer, takes Rhys’s face in his big hands, holds it, admires it. “God, you are just going to be the _perfect_ little sex toy, aren’t you.”

One more squeeze of his cheeks, and then Jack drops his hands and turns toward the door. “Okay, pumpkin, good job. Shower’s in the next room, so clean yourself up a little bit cause you’re pretty gross right now. I’ll be back in a couple hours, so if you behave and I’m in the mood maybe I’ll let you suck my cock - ”

“Jack?” Rhys hears himself ask, and he hates how broken he sounds.

Jack glances back at him. “What’s wrong, cupcake?”

 _I hate you_ , Rhys thinks. _I hate you. You destroyed my body. You ruined my life. Please stay with me._

Instead, he shakes his head, glances away. “Nothing.”

Jack smiles. “Good boy. Love you, Rhysie.”

And then Jack turns on his heel and exits and the door slams behind him and Rhys is alone, again.

He takes a deep breath. Tries desperately not to cry. 

_Good boy. Love you, Rhysie._

(Rhys is disgusted by how much he wants to believe it.)

—

Somewhere in the Pandoran desert, a lone woman stands at the head of a makeshift shooting range. She reloads her pistol, stares down the barrel, pulls the trigger three times in quick succession. _Bang-bang-bang,_ echoing around the quiet of the ravine, and one straw-stuffed target bursts open at exactly where a person’s face might be. 

She lowers her pistol, stares at the destroyed target. Still not good enough, not precise enough. She shakes her head and turns to leave, back toward home -

Just then, her EchoComm beeps once, twice - a new recorded message. 

She stops in her tracks. Picks it up. Considers for a moment, and then listens.

_Hey. It’s Maya. We need you back at the base right away, Lilith’s got something - something important for you. Information._

(A deep breath. And then - )

_It’s about Rhys. We think he might be alive._

She stops the recording. Goes back, plays it again.

_It’s about Rhys. We think he might be alive._

The EchoComm goes silent in a buzz of static. 

She stares at it. Takes a deep breath. Lifts her eyes up to the great behemoth of Helios, hanging in front of Elpis, waiting to be brought to its knees.

And Fiona grips the warmth of the pistol she’ll use to kill Handsome Jack, kisses the barrel, and smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah, okay, this is gonna be a series. this is most likely the first of three (perhaps four?) fics in this AU, the latter two of which will include fiona and be much more explicit with the rhack/rhyiona love triangle i've set up. i have so many ideas and they will not fit into one fic. so...we'll see.
> 
> but hey, hit me up if you liked it!


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